


Fun Between Friends

by lockedin221b



Series: Three's Company [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/pseuds/lockedin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Greg slapped his knees before getting to his feet. “Well, if you ever want to hop in with us sometime.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>John crossed his arms. “Is that a serious offer?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fun Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I lost track of who requested what, but here's to whoever requested Johnlockstrade!

If Sherlock heard anything out in the hall, he didn’t enlighten Greg to it. Greg certainly hadn’t. He was too busy keeping his voice under control while Sherlock sucked him off. So when the door opened and John’s head poked through, he let out a surprise yelp.

“Shit!” John slammed the door.

And Sherlock was still sucking his dick.

“Sherlock, get off. Christ!” He pushed Sherlock away, and some part of him—his libido and his prick, probably—gave a silent cry of dismay. “You said he was in New Zealand until Monday,” Greg snapped.

Sherlock sat up on his knees, looking entirely unperturbed by the momentary interruption. Actually, he looked annoyed by it. He licked his swollen lips, and Greg groaned inwardly. “That’s what his note said.” Acting as if that was sufficient, he started to lean forward again.

“Sherlock!” Greg shouted. Then, realising what that might have sounded like to John, he slapped his hand over his mouth. He let out a groan, this one not from pleasure, and rubbed his hand through his hair.

“What?” Sherlock scowled. “I don’t see why John’s presence in this flat means we have to stop. You’ve come around at odd hours before, when he was sleeping.”

“Half past eleven in the morning on a Saturday is not an odd hour.”

“And you expect to go out in that state?” He arched his brow and looked pointedly down.

Greg followed Sherlock’s gaze, though he didn’t have to. His cock protruded from his body fully erect, covered in saliva and precome. “Fuck.”

“Gladly.” This time when Sherlock leaned forward, Greg didn’t stop him.

He did, however, have to grab one of Sherlock’s pillows and stuff it over his face when he came and Sherlock swallowed.

As blood began flowing up again, Sherlock said in his most disinterested voice, “I didn’t hear John leave the flat.”

“Shit.” Greg wiped himself off with a couple tissues and snatched one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns off the back of his door.

“Forgetting something?”

As he tied the robe shut, he looked over and saw Sherlock leaning back on his arms, putting his prick on display. “You’ve got two hands,” Greg said dryly before walking out of the room.

He found John in the sitting room. After a bit of mental calculation, he figured John’s room was right above Sherlock’s. John sat on the couch, about as far from Sherlock’s room as he could get while still being in the flat, his computer in his lap. His gaze was stuck to the screen even while Greg sat on the opposite end of the couch.

Without looking up, he managed to say, “Sorry to walk in on, uh, that.”

“Our fault. We thought you’d be in New Zealand until Monday.”

John nodded. “That was the plan. Should have e-mailed. Wasn’t sure if he’d even notice I was gone.”

“Oh, he noticed.” Greg immediately wiped off the grin that had sprung up. “So what happened in New Zealand?”

“Sarah and I.” John shook his head. “Everything came to a head. It just wasn’t working.”

A wave of irrational guilt swept over Greg. “Sorry, mate.”

“It’s fine. Part of me is surprised she stuck around so long after everything that happened.” He closed his laptop and put it on the coffee table. “So, uh, you two. Did not see that coming. How long?”

“On and off for some months.”

“I’m not sure what surprises me more.” John leaned back into the couch. “The night after he and I met, he said he was married to his work. Didn’t care for all that girlfriend-boyfriend nonsense.”

“He doesn’t. It’s just fucking.”

John looked at him curiously, finally meeting his eye.

Greg chuckled. “My wife and I split about eight months back. Still legally married, haven’t finished the paperwork, but she’s off living with someone else.”

“And how did that end with you in Sherlock’s bed?”

“Fifteen years of marriage, not exactly ready to jump into another relationship.” Greg shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I can’t get laid. And just because that wanker doesn’t want romance doesn’t mean he’s immune to those tedious primal urges us normal people get.”

John laughed, which was a bit of a relief. “So mutually beneficial. I guess it’s better than a bunch of one night stands.”

“And infinitely cheaper than prostitutes.”

After John had a moment to process everything, he nodded back to the bedroom. “What’s he doing back there? Sulking?”

“Probably. I left him with a hard-on that could hammer a nail.”

“Oh god, what for?”

“Damage control. You looked pretty freaked. Well, for the half second I saw you.”

“Just surprised. Really, really surprised. Thanks, though. I can, um, go pick up lunch.”

Greg glanced toward the kitchen and the bedroom beyond. “You sure? I feel bad. This is your flat, too.”

“It’s alright. The walk will do me some good.” John picked up his laptop and brought it over to the table.

“Yeah, sorry about Sarah.”

“It’s fine, really.” He turned and leaned back against the table. “It was a while coming. I just didn’t want to see it.”

Greg slapped his knees before getting to his feet. “Well, if you ever want to hop in with us sometime.”

John crossed his arms. “Is that a serious offer?”

His words startled Greg dumb for a moment. When he refocused, he couldn’t read John’s expression well enough to tell whether or not he was taking the piss. “What, really?”

“Two things can happen when you spend the better part of a decade surrounded mostly by other blokes.” John held up a finger, “One, you can become absolutely certain of your heterosexuality,” and a second, “or two, you accept the fact that you wanked off that one time to the thought of your sixth form rugby coach.”

Greg snorted. “Your rugby coach?”

“Michelangelo would have died to sculpt that man’s arse.” John smiled. “So I’ll get lunch?”

“Let me—” Greg paused and looked toward the bedroom again. “Let me ask Sherlock.” Greg found Sherlock lying on the bed with his mobile in hand. His prick looked untouched, but significantly withered.

“About time,” Sherlock said, flipping off his mobile and putting it aside.

“John—”

“Not scarred for life I hope? I expect you to make this up to me,” he said, indicating his half erection.

Greg scratched the back of his head. “He wants to join us.”

Sherlock looked mildly surprised, which could have meant anything about how he was reacting internally to this information. “Where is he?”

“Out in the sitting room. Wanted to ask you fir—”

“JOHN.”

“I could have just fetched him,” Greg muttered.

John appeared in the doorway. He didn’t seem shy about looking Sherlock over before meeting his gaze. “Yeah?”

“Greg says you’d like to join our fuck session.”

“If everyone’s alright with that.” John shrugged. “Sure.”

“I have no objections.” Sherlock turned to Greg, and John followed.

Greg shifted from one foot to the other, stuffing his hands absently into the pockets of Sherlock’s dressing gown. “It’s not that I mind, but—”

“You’ve never participated in a threesome before,” Sherlock interrupted curtly. “That was much obvious.”

“How was that obvious?” Greg’s brow wrinkled.

Sherlock opened his mouth, but John interrupted, “Don’t start him deducing aloud. It’ll kill the mood.”

Greg had to grin when the words caused Sherlock to snap his mouth shut. He turned to John, and found him already stripped to the waist. His gaze fell involuntarily to the scar on John’s shoulder and seemed to glue itself there.

John had his trousers unzipped before he noticed and explained, “Shot. That’s why they sent me home. Bit rubbish as a surgeon when I can’t keep a steady arm for hours on end.”

Greg finally pried his eyes away and found John watching him in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Sherlock.

“You can touch it. It’s just scar tissue.”

Greg hadn’t even realised he was asking the question until John gave him the answer. He brushed the ridged white skin. “I would have imagined it to be bigger.”

“Close up, it would’ve been. Sniper shot, though.” John untied the dressing gown Greg was still wearing.

His attention immediately snapped back to the present, in time to notice a second pair of hands pulling the robe off from behind. Before him, John pushed down trousers and pants and kicked them aside. They took a moment to drink in the sight of each other’s bodies. John trailed his fingers down Greg’s sides and hips, his eyes grazing elsewhere. Greg traced the muscles on John’s chest and stomach.

But, of course, they were interrupted. “If you two are quite done,” Sherlock muttered with all the petulance of an adolescent.

John grinned. He cupped Greg’s face and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. Greg held his hips, meeting it eagerly. The other man licked his way into Greg’s mouth with several sweeps of a pointed tongue, teasing and tasting until Greg opened his mouth and welcomed him inside.

When he broke briefly for an unfortunately needed breath, he gazed wide-eyed at John. “You’re a bloody fantastic kisser.”

John’s voice fell to something sultry when he said, “I know.”

“And I thought his mouth was good,” Greg chuckled, pointing a thumb behind him to Sherlock.

“Mm, what’s it like on your prick?”

“Best fucking blowjobs I’ve ever had.”

John looked over his shoulder to Sherlock. “I’ll have to give it a go sometime.”

There was a huff at Greg’s back. “Are you two finished talking about me as if I’m not sitting right here with half an erection? Still.”

“Question, Greg,” John said, completely ignoring Sherlock.

“Yeah?”

John danced his fingers up Greg’s arms, and his skin shivered. Then John met his eyes again. “Ever taken before?”

Greg managed to nod.

“Good,” John breathed against his partially open mouth. “Because I don’t think I ever told you how damn pretty your arse is.” He kissed Greg again, this time resting his hands on Greg’s hips and walking him back to the edge of the bed.

There, Sherlock’s hands cupped his shoulders and his breath ghosted along the back of his neck. He kissed just below the nape of his hair, then bit and sucked mark after mark down his shoulder. Greg moaned into John’s mouth, grasping John’s waist in desperation to hold onto something.

Sherlock abandoned his ministrations, but Greg didn’t have time to wonder where he had gone as John pushed their hips flush and gave a slow roll. It wasn’t until Greg heard the pop of a plastic cap that he knew where Sherlock had disappeared to. John’s hands travelled around to grip his arse and spread him for Sherlock to tease one slick fingertip down his perineum and back up before pressing into him. Greg shuddered, his legs threatening to give out at any moment.

John ducked his head and sucked at Greg’s throat, while Sherlock worked one wonderfully long finger into him. Greg wrapped his arms around John and hung his head back to give him more room. He groaned, his body torn between pressing back to swallow more of Sherlock’s finger, or forward to increase contact with John. They were both significantly erect, their cocks pressed between their stomachs and brushing each other here and there. Every time this happened, or Sherlock brushed his prostate with a curled finger, he let out a shameless moan.

“Ready?” Sherlock whispered unexpectedly in his ear. His finger was still up Greg’s arse.

“Oh god yes,” Greg sighed, a low rumble in his chest.

John rested his chin on Greg’s shoulder, apparently looking down at Sherlock’s hand disappearing in his arse. “Only one finger?” he mused.

“Trust me,” Greg panted, “he only needs one.”

Sherlock pulled his finger out with a slow corkscrew that left Greg’s legs completely useless. Miraculously, John held him up until Sherlock had moved out of the way to fetch a condom. Greg’s arse felt incredibly empty and loose.

John crowded him, standing right against the mattress with his legs on either side of Greg’s. “I think you’ll like this next part quite a bit,” he said with a wry smile and brushed his fingers through Greg’s hair.

“Already liking it quite a bit,” Greg returned.

John chuckled as Sherlock handed him to condom.

Greg watched unabashedly as John rolled on the condom, and then slicked it up with the lube Sherlock handed him.

“Turn around,” he whispered.

Greg did so and froze. Sherlock was on his back, head on the pillow, legs spread and waiting for Greg to climb between them—which he did, happily, after the initial loss of breath and brain function.

Sherlock pulled Greg down on top of him and immediately into a deep kiss, his tongue practically fucking Greg’s mouth. John had been languid and smooth was his kissing, while Sherlock was hard and rough with his. They were both bloody fantastic. Sherlock snaked his hand between them and gathered up both their pricks in one slicked up hand. They released a simultaneous moan into one another’s mouth.

The weight of the mattress shifted as John climbed up behind Greg. He smoothed a hand over his arse before gripping it once again and pressing the head of his cock up against Greg. “Alright?” John murmured.

Greg broke away from Sherlock’s mouth long enough to gasp, “Just fuck me!”

John responded with a push. He slid in slow and steady, just like John’s kissing.

Greg wasn’t going to last long enough for a slow fuck. “Go,” he urged, rolling his hips back against John.

He was answered this time with a long, but hard thrust.

“God, yes!” he cried, bracing his hands on either side of Sherlock’s head.

John thrust again and again, each one picking up significant speed and force until they were just quick shallow pumps, skin slapping skin, John’s hands clamped tight on Greg’s hips.

Greg shouldn’t have been surprised that Sherlock came first, considering how long he’d been in denial today. As usual, he muffled his cries of pleasure by biting down on the side of his hand. Come smeared between their stomachs and over their pricks and Sherlock’s hand.

As Sherlock’s fingers tightened and pulled their cocks with the orgasm, Greg bucked, and then buckled. Behind him, John yelped as Greg’s arse tightened about his cock. He lost all attempt at rhythm and rammed over and over into Greg before finally joining them with his own climax.

When the spots in his vision and mind faded, Greg found himself sprawled on top of Sherlock, John trembling over him with his prick still half inside Greg’s arse.

“Oxygen,” Sherlock heaved beneath him. “Oxygen would be nice.”

“John,” Greg murmured.

John pulled the rest of the way out and flopped onto his back beside Sherlock.

Greg rolled over onto his side. There wasn’t enough room to lie on his back, but he didn’t think his arse would’ve liked that at the moment anyway.

“That was,” John took a deep breath and let it out in a puff, “fun.” After a pause, he broke into a fit of giggling, which Sherlock joined in on a moment later. They were both breathless, holding their stomachs—in Sherlock’s case a very messy stomach—and Greg watched them with a stupid grin plastered on his own face.


End file.
